


Dear Diary, the Apocalypse happened.

by Dinkus (Dinkerinos)



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Last of Us, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Death, Developing Friendships, Diary/Journal, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Romance, Family Dynamics, Friendship/Love, M/M, Not Underage, Other, POV First Person, Survival, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-01-11 23:00:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18433898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dinkerinos/pseuds/Dinkus
Summary: A young girl chronicles her life after the Apocalypse happens in a diary, and how she ends up trying to travel across the whole of America with a tall, bearded and generally scruffy looking forty-year-old man.Together, they're trying to find the last hope her travel companion has of his past life. At the same time, she finds something she's sorely needed: kinship.Note: Inspired by YH1NM!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [You have (1) new message.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17264870) by [its_mike_kapufty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/its_mike_kapufty/pseuds/its_mike_kapufty). 



> Disclaimer: The AU is based on the game Last of Us and may contain game references (though not for certain).  
> Main character inspired by Ellie.
> 
> Trying to stick to 'canonical' personalities in Rhett and Link - with some artistic liberties of the effects of experiencing the zombie apocalypse and losing people.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet again, the cover art for my story isn't showing up.
> 
> Please enjoy it over at my tumblr page instead:  
> https://dinkerinosaurus.tumblr.com/image/184210751344

 

__

 

_February 12 th, 2016_

Dear diary, school announced it’s closing the coming week. ~~Yay!~~

I would say I’m relieved since 200’s trials were coming up, but I’m really not.

Mom and dad say it’s to be sure, but I think they’re just as doubtful as me. The outbreak was only two states away this time, in Roswell. They say it’s like the swine flu.

Honestly, they say a lot of shit on the TV.

 

Otherwise, I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to do with my free time. The gym has shortened their opening hours since yesterday, and I’m watching Charles today because of school – so, I guess I’ll be beating my high score on dad’s old Mario game. Again.

-.-.-.-

 

_February 14 th, 2016_

Happy Valentines, me!

If school wasn’t closed, I’d totally have gotten a valentine’s card. Emily said she’d made one and bought chocolates, but she can’t come leave it because of the flight this afternoon. Some stupid Alaska trip her mom decided on not one week ago.

I wanted to go get them from her, but she said it wasn’t a good idea. She didn’t say why, but I know it’s because her mom is paranoid. Sorry, Emily, but it’s true. You’d say so yourself if you read this. Though you never will, of course.

 

I thought about Matt today, and I’m not sure why. First of all, not sure why I thought we’d be together forever and second of all why he came into mind on the day for couples – because I sure as heck don’t want to dive into that again. Don’t think dad would let me, anyway. Teenage couples are a joke, and you’d think I should have known that from how unreal the movies made for me are.

Sometimes I feel like I’m ten years older in my mind than in my body.

 

Oh, and before I get way too deep with this, I totally did beat my high score. And ‘Charlie-charles’ liked watching me too. Maybe I can become his sensei one day, teach him all the tricks and be proud that I’m such a great sister.

 

I crack myself up at least.

-.-.-.-

_February 20 th, 2016_

Hey, long time no see, diary.

 

So.

Not sure what to say here.

 

Mom was crying today in the kitchen. Dad was by the sink, staring at nothing.

 

Like an abstract painting.

 

 

The radio was on, reporting another case in Tucson. Not even 500 miles away. I don’t think the swine flu traveled like that.

 

-.-.-.-

 

_February 24 th, 2016_

 

  * ~~Milk x2~~
  * ~~Butter~~
  * ~~Canned meat, ugh x3 (srsly dad)~~
  * ~~Beans x2~~
  * ~~Carrots x3~~
  * ~~Baby powder~~



 

I was sitting on our porch today, keeping an eye on Charlie while mom removed weeds from the garden. Not sure why she was doing that, honestly. Feels like she’s just distracting herself.

Can’t blame her, really. Dad is constantly sitting in the sofa since his job laid him off. It was a shitty job but – I don’t know.

It sucks to see him like this. I still don’t believe it was budget cuts. They’re scared about grandma in Roswell.

Grandma hasn’t been sick for years and we haven’t visited since the outbreak in January, but it’s still a hot pile of horse crap – Dad wouldn’t get the sickness, even if we did visit and she did have it, because he’s as healthy as his mom.

 

Fuck them.

…Y’know, mom would wash my mouth with soap if she knew what I wrote in here, which makes me laugh, but I don’t actually think she would – who even does that? Feels like it would be toxic - I think Ms. Tennenbaum said soap is solvable with organic material, so wouldn’t soap just start corroding my tongue? Over a long ass time, right, but still.

Guess my point is exaggerated child abuse is funny when you know chemistry.

 

At least Charles has been smiling a lot. He’s even asked for “maariuh” a few times now.

He’s the chosen one, one day he will surpass me.

 

 -.-.-.-

_February 26 th, 2016_

They’ve quarantined 16 people in San Diego.

 _SAN DIEGO_. That’s not even 3 hrs away from here!!

 

I can’t believe it. I’m not usually hypochondriacal, but with how secretive it’s been on the news about this new influenza or whatever, it’s really starting to feel like a bad zombie movie.

Dad isn’t helping either being in that damn garage for hours, making his crazy survival kits. I think mom has yelled at him until she cried ~~3~~  4 times now.

In the sick paradox that it is, I’m somehow happy I’ve finally gotten the soft air gun he tucked away after I shot the pigeon and it fell on grandma’s head. ~~Still not my fault, and also still: she laughed!~~

I wish dad was more like his mom, y’know? Chill. Not barricading himself away from his family and almost forgetting his two-year-old. Or his soon-thirteen-year-old.

 

I got a knife too. Bowie he called it, like the guy on the records he used to listen to. He’s pretty good, that Bowie guy.

 

Anyway.

Mom just called for dinner.

~~Guess we’ll see what the argument will be today, if dad shows up.~~

 

 -.-.-.-

_February 28 th, 2016_

 

I hate everything.

I hate everyone.

I hate being stuck here.

 

I hate that the world is stopping around me, and I’m barely out of seventh grade.

 

Mom slapped me today when I yelled at Charlie. Like I could help it. He had ripped out the Nintendo from the wall mount – BREAKING IT. She would have yelled at him for having his finger in his nose!!

Maybe I acted badly when I screamed at her and locked myself in my room, which I know she hates when I do. When I think about it, I don’t think she deserves it. Neither does little C.

I just feel so much; I don’t even know. Angst? I hate that word too. I’m not an angsty teen. I do athletics, I play video games, I love my little brother, I have my good friends – ~~even if I haven’t seen them for a few weeks now.~~ but sometimes…

I can’t help it

It just happens to me

It’s this whole **thing**

 

The world. Dad.

I think mom is feeling it too. I don’t think she meant to slap me.

Guess I get my strength from somewhere though because my cheek is still stinging.

 

I should apologize to mom. And Charlie.

 

-.-.-.-

 

_March 2 nd, 2016_

 

  * 12 dead in Yuma
  * 34 dead in Tucson
  * 30 dead in Phoenix
  * 26 dead. LV.
  * 20
  * 5
  * 17



 

 

 

They reported 2 in central LA.

I’m scared.

 

I thought a lot about Charlie today.

If mom is not crying in her bed, or trying to coax dad out of the garage, she’s sitting eerily still in the sun chair by the apple tree.

I have to do most things now. I had to learn at some point, I just wish it wasn’t like this.

 

Charlie knows too, he’s not smiling as much anymore. Keeps asking for mom.

I know, buddy.

 

Feel like I gotta be strong right now. Like I’m caring for two children and a depressed teenager locked in his room. Then I remember that my birthday is in 2 days and it just---

[BLOTCHED HANDWRITING]

 

P.S. Had to wipe it down. Nothing important was lost.

 

-.-.-.-

 

 

[SEVERAL PAGES ARE RIPPED OUT]

 

….

 

-.-.-.-


	2. Chapter 2

_Spring, 2017?_

 

Don’t know why I have this still

 

Its dead weight

 

-.-.-.-

_Summer, 2017_

 

Montara Park, by the three rocks, hidden in the stump

Avoid the hospital, full of them all the way to the museum

Butcher has frozen cuts still (how? Generator?)

Wetzel’s looks bunkered up. Survivors?

  * 5 shells
  * 17 bullets
  * 10 cans of meat
  * A few pounds of potatoes
  * 10 cans of beans
  * A pound of jerky?
  * The holster for the knife
  * Extra shoes
  * Found a bike, stashed by the rocks



 

-.-.-.-

 

_Summer. Late summer? Flowers are gone, 2018_

 

I miss them.

 

I miss mom, dad. I miss little Charlie. I miss grandma. I miss my friends. I miss Emily.

I miss my stupid neighbor that played drums at five in the morning. I miss my athletics coach.

 

I don’t know why I still have this stupid book.

 

-.-.-.-

 

_Fall, 2018_

[LISTS OF SUPPLIES]

 

The bike broke today. Or the chain did.

It was rusty.

 

It kept up for a year at least.

 

-.-.-.-

_Winter, 2018_

 

[MORE LISTS, SCRIBBLES OF WORDS BEHIND LARGE AND AGGRESSIVE LINES OF PEN]

 

Finally managed to bring the stash into the trailer park.

Thank God.

 

You’d think thirty cans of dubious meat would be lighter.

 

…

 

No, you wouldn’t. No one would.

 

**~~ Why do I bother? ~~ **

**~~~~ **

-.-.-.-

_2019?_

 

I don’t think they can see properly.

 

The vending machine was already broken, I was stuffing everything I could into my backpack. It was really **fucking** stupid that I was stressing so much and made the glass crash on the floor, but to be fair, it was getting late.

And one came.

 

I thought that was it.

 

It chirped, gurgled, scanned around itself, maybe radius of 2 feet? Then it left.

Lucky that I was too scared to move or breathe. Useless.

 

** REMEMBER:  **

  * BE QUIET
  * DON’T GO IN THE DARK
  * DON’T BREATHE IN THE SPORES
  * DON’T SHOOT UNLESS YOU ABSOLUTELY HAVE TO – AGAIN, BE QUIET



 

-.-.-.-

_Spring, 2019_

 

I thought I saw dad today.

I really hope I didn’t. I really really really really really hope it wasn’t him.

 

Please, God, tell me it wasn’t him.

 [STAINS DILUTE THE WORDS]

It probably wasn’t, right? It had way too long hair. It shouldn’t grow when you’re dead, right?

~~Right?~~

 

No, when you’re dead, you’re gone. Hair only grows on people that are alive. Only them. It must have been someone else. Someone that had the same kind of shirt he did.

 

I should burn it, before it roots.

 

-.-.-.-

_Early summer? 2019_

 

I saw a gang of survivors on Yucca Ave. There were children with them, lots of them.

 

They looked maybe my age. Maybe a bit younger. Some older? Looked like three or four adults with them.

 

Thought I recognized one of the boys. Think I’m recognizing a lot of people where they aren’t.

 

 

They saw me in the dumpster. But it was ok.

 Remember the lady with the large hat. She gave me bread (YES!) Bread. Like not moldy or green. ~~Where do you even get that kind of stuff?!~~

 

Def. staking that route out tomorrow again. She said she’d bring more. I wonder where they live.

 

-.-.-.-

_Summer, 2019_

 

** ADDITIONAL WARNINGS: **

DON’T APPROACH THE CHILDREN.

DON’T FOLLOW THE TRAIL TO THE CHURCH.

 

I was almost caught. They’re not friendly.

The boy I thought I recognized was Jason from chemistry. He was a bit shy, if I remember.

When he saw me following their directions to the hideout, he yelled at me to run. And I did – ran as fast as I could. Glad I still have some speed in me.

 

…I don’t think Jason survived helping me.

 

 

Fuck.

FUCK.

**FUCK THIS.**

**I HATE EVERYTHING. I HATE EVERYONE. FUCK EVERYTHING.**

 [SKETCHES OF FACES AND ANIMALS BLOTCH THE WORDS]

 

 

(Some days later….  is this a diary or an autobiography?: … But, wow. Feel like I should wash my own mouth at this point)

 

-.-.-.-

_Summer, 2019_

Man, I wish I had the jasmine soap mom bought.

Any soap would be nice though. I probably wouldn’t want to be around me right now. I probably stink like something dead.

Ha. Ha.

 

I think I remember a barrel by the trailer five left, three down? It rained not two days ago…

 

-.-.-.-

_Summer, 2019_

 

All I can say is that it was totally worth it.

 

The barrel was full to the brim and very warm on that south facing side. I even had the good idea to pull the barrel inside the trailer, which was surprisingly nice. No broken windows, no chaos on the floor with failed packing or signs of a struggle to leave.

It was like my personal bathing trailer! Finally got to clean that nasty blood from my jeans, too.

 

It’s like I kind of understand mom’s love for washing clothes. In a sick and twisted way, of course.

 

 

Haven’t been that relaxed for…. years?

Might be Fall in a few days. Feels like it should be.

 

Everything is still as green as it gets in Barstow though, like a bad joke. Life finds a way, I guess.

 

Just not humans.

 

 

-.-.-.-

_ Late fall? 2019 _

 

I thought I lost this

 

 

It’s funny. Like, it’s bittersweet to find this, because it’s all I have left of them, but it’s also the only reminder of them as well.

So, it’s a part of me, but it hurts so _so_ bad to look at this brown cover with the dirty and smudged pages.

 

Almost felt okay to not have it after the first week.

Second week, it was like an itch.

After a month I had stopped crying myself to sleep. Stroke of luck nothing heard me all those nights.

 

It’s kinda like I pulled a sick prank on myself by forgetting it in the Walmart. It was pretty stupid to be doing inventory in the open like that though with the things prowling around and the hunters.

Just lucky I heard the shots before they found me.

 

 

I realized I’ve been avoiding mirrors as well, because I looked straight into one at that Walmart. Or several. My hair is kinda long and wavy? Is it just the start of dreds? Not sure I’d fit in that. I know I’ve written somewhere far back in here that I thought it was badass and super practical for 200’s sprint but, man.

Needless to say, I got myself a comb and some other stuff before I was forced to leave.

 

-.-.-.-

_ Winter. A damn cold one too. 2019 _

 

Saw another Searcher today.

Don’t think I’ve written it before, but I decided that’s what fits.

 

Solo, armed to the teeth, carrying comically huge backpacks or having some kind of ‘packing mule’, always looking like something will jump them at any second. Pff. Obviously haven’t experienced the infected (decided I should name them too. The news called the sick ones ‘infected’) actually hunting. They don’t prowl around if they don’t hear something. They wait for you.

 

Haven’t approached a Searcher yet. Kinda wanna know where they’re going. Like, why? What are they looking for?

I seriously doubt any place is better than the other at this point.

Well, that’s not true, I guess. I bet LA is a war zone. With how many fled Barstow for the “safety” of the big city, that just increases the population for the infected to poison with their virus. Maybe their quarantine worked though. Maybe they are safer…

Anyway…

The Searcher was short and stout. Brown hair. Maybe around 25. A guy. Looked like one of those ‘classic’ computer wizards. Gotta admit it made me a bit skeptical to how he’s survived so far.

Probably hunkered down in his mom’s basement. Didn’t even notice the Apocalypse ™ until he was out of mountain dew!

 

 

Aah, man.

I bet Charlie would laugh with me, at least.

 

 

[THE PAPER IS CRUMBLED WITH DRIED STAINS]

 

(Hello, Hindsight speaking here: probably not a great idea to write about Charles)

-.-.-.-

_ Winter, 2019 _

 [A HANDDRAWN MAP OF A TRAILER PARK WITH MARKED SPOTS FOR TRAPS, SUPPLIES, AND OTHER IMPORTANT LOCATIONS]

 

-.-.-.-

_ Maybe early spring? 2020 _

_ Happy new year or whatever _

 

Guess what I found today…

 

I sat in my trailer – or not _my_ trailer, but the trailer I’ve borrowed from the probably-not-alive owners – and read the books I’ve collected. Well, mostly I just looked at the covers until I found one I recognized.

 

Yup, you guessed it, me:

Harry Potter! Yay!

At least the third one, which is totally fine by me. I loved every one of them.

 

I read half of it during the day, went on a short round in the park to check my traps, then I read the rest until it was dawn again.

 

Also, it rained, finally. Means that I can see footprints easier again.

Really gotta hone my survival skills though.

 

 -.-.-.-

_ Summer, 2020 _

 

I almost got bit today.

 

It was sitting in a tent by the outskirts, probably some Searcher that got unlucky – totally thought it was a corpse. It lunged at me while I was scouting supplies in the camp.

I managed to lodge my knife into its jaw before it was on top of me. (Thanks, dad)

The twitching when I pulled it out was disgusting. Almost like it felt the pain.

 

But it didn’t. They don’t.

Whoever they were isn’t left. They’re just shells.

 

I hope they are.

 

-.-.-.-

_ …Winter, 2020 _

 

Oh, hey.

 

I was going to start writing an apology to the reader until I remembered that no one reads this. It’s just me.

 

The trailer park was overrun by infected at some point during Fall. No idea where they came from, haven’t seen them walk in groups like that before – not on purpose at least. At least it looked purposeful, because it seemed like they were moving toward something.

I think it was the church, where that ugly human cartel is.

 

 

Do they smell humans? Have they heard something I can’t? Not sure what was happening.

 

Anyway, of course I had to get the hell out of there. Had to leave a lot of things in my hurry, like the books. Like the comb and the new shoes, I found just the day before.

Man, I really liked those shoes. Nike Pegasus. I wanted those before this whole shit-show started.

 

 

At first, I settled in some apartment complex that wasn’t quite as abandoned as I thought. Infected that hadn’t made it outside yet were roaming inside.

So, I went to the college. Good old Barstow Community College. Now I can pretend I was able to get an education with my very own dorm room.

 

I think some dude lived here before me, because there’s a lot of boxer briefs spread around here in weird places.

 

Going to have to check the grounds for infected. And survivors.

 

-.-.-.-

_ Spring, 2021 _

 

I heard a noise from my trap in the hall.

 

Pray for me, dear diary.


	3. Chapter 3

_ Spring, second day, 2021 _

 

You won’t believe what I found in the trap.

 

A Searcher. Well, an unconscious Searcher, because he got knocked out from the sofa toppling over him. Which was lucky, he might’ve stepped into the bear trap next if he had kept going.

 

Was considering leaving him there to wake up on his own, but I had to drag him to the room because I think the sound of the trap lured some infected to the yard.

It. Was. **HEAVY.**

This dude has to be at least 7ft tall! And he’s NOT skinny like most of the ones I’ve seen, ~~so it was at least 300 pounds.~~ He looks about as beat up as you’d imagine though. Big beard, lots of scruffy hair, dirty blue-bruised nails (I’ve learned that’s something common among us survivors compared to infected), caked in dust from the wasteland and looks like he’s been to hell and back. Around 40 years old?

He’s tied to a bed post right now. Just in case.

 

Got his stuff in the bathroom. This guy is _loaded_. Score.

 

-.-.-.-

_ Spring, second and a half day, 2021 _

 

He still hasn’t woken up.

Thought he died at one point during the night (yes, I stayed up to check on him, I don’t want him to wake up – see no one, realize he’s tied down in a strange room and panic, bringing the infected running) but he was just breathing really quietly.

Sometimes, he mumbled something – which freaked me the hell out at first.

 

 

 

 

...Not sure what I’m going to do when he wakes up. Let him go?

He’d want his stuff back and I’m reluctant to part with all the supplies he had (A rifle!!!! Among other things). And then he’d probably kill me for stealing his gear in the first place. Which I would understand, my encounters with other survivors hasn’t exactly been positive so far…

 

Maybe I could strike a deal?

Though, he would probably overpower me the second I free him (I’m a respectful estimated 5’8” but… IDK about taking on 7’0”) even IF we can settle for what we both want. Presumably this would end up with me dead as well, just for good measure.

 

I wish it didn’t feel so inevitable. I wasn’t exactly a trusting person before all of this but, man… The wasteland town hasn’t treated me well. Seen people I used to know trying to steal from me – or left me for dead when infected found us after having established some form of contact (shouldn’t be surprised Rebecca would. We were never friends). I’ve seen others fighting at a distance, shooting, stabbing, punching each other until the other either died, or the infected came to finish them off. For some reason, I guess I thought a crisis like this would bring people together – because it’s just us now. But like any cornered animal, we attack everything we don’t trust. Scavenge everything we can to survive.

Guess I shouldn’t be writing all high and mighty though. I’ve stolen too, fought other survivors. But at least most of the time, I’ve been able to out run it all… Poetic as it might sound to run away from your problems, I wasn’t exactly feeling like a philosopher when I had my heart high in my throat and my lungs burned.

 

Also, that was surprisingly hard to write actually, which is kinda crazy??

I mean, I would’ve died in many a situation if I hadn’t done what I did. I do what I have to. Like everyone. Despite what I have written before and then ripped out, I don’t actually want to die. Make no mistake, dear diary.

 

So…

I thought about doing it first. The rule of the jungle and all that.

It shouldn’t be so hard, right? I’ve killed a lot of people by now.

Well, infected, technically…

But they look like people most of the time so it shouldn’t be such a big step – he’d probably die from less than them honestly. A hard strike to the head.

 

I’ll get around to it when I stop shaking.

 

It’s him or me

 

 

-.-.-.-

_ Spring, third day, 2021 _

 

I can’t do it

I can’t freaking do it

 

For an entire hour, I sat less than two feet away from him, staring at his chest breathing or making sure his eyes were closed like a psycho. I had the knife in my hand, the “Bowie” from dad, and held it so tight that I started feeling numb in my fingers. Pretty sure I was almost crying at one point. For a damn stranger I just robbed and tied to my bed

It’s honestly a miracle I’ve survived for this long, being such a coward

 

…But I just couldn’t do it.

 

Felt like dad would know that I had killed an innocent person with the knife he entrusted me

I’m a piece of crap for even considering it, no matter the situation I’m in right now. The world may have gone to hell, but I refuse to sink to its level anymore than I’ve done

I guess I’m a hopeless romantic in the way that I imagine the everything being back to normal one day, and I can’t live with being a murderer like this. We’ll never get there by killing each other

 

In the end, I ugly cried into a pillow in the shower, all curled up in the corner

 

 

He barely even stirred in the five hours I spent deciding on his life

 

[AGGRESSIVE SCRIBBLES AND SMUDGED WORDS FILLS THE PAGE]

 

And he probably won’t wake up for another five, so I have time to figure something out

 

 

I owe myself (and the world?) that much

 

 

-.-.-.-

_ Spring, third and a half, 2021 _

 

I looked through his things

It’s not worthy of me, and I hate myself a bit for doing it, but I couldn’t help it

I just wanted to know whose life I had spared. Or almost ended.

 

 

Like most others he has weapons, food, survival kits – maps, rope, cooking utensils, stuff like that – but deep in the backpack I found a picture and case with glasses.

The picture was pretty torn. Pieced together with tape. It was a large family photo.

It looked like the man was in the far back with a bunch of children, two women and another man standing in front, around and next to him respectively. Two of the kids looked a lot like him.

 

I couldn’t take a lot more than that. Shame hit me like a waterfall of all the times I’ve disappointed someone – including myself. I returned his things where I found them and sat in the bathroom again, hugging my knees.

 

Always saw myself as a stable person. Guess the apocalypse takes its toll on you?

 

-.-.-.-

_ Spring, fourth day, 2021 _

 

So.

 

He woke up.

 

It was… OK? At first he seemed worried, naturally, but when he saw me sitting on the floor about 8 feet away he kinda relaxed – probably because I couldn’t threaten a mouse if I tried but... Man.

 

It was weird, he just kinda asked if he had any of his stuff left before I even said anything. It took all of my non-existent emotional strength to not burst out crying at how calmly he asked me – was it so inevitably true for him?

I expected struggling, threats, anger, anything resembling a normal reaction to waking up tied? With a strange kid watching you?

 

For a moment, I considered lying, saying I hadn’t taken his stuff, but it made me want to puke. I just shook my head dumbly and said I was going to take it, but that I changed my mind.

And he nodded. Just nodded. DUDE, at least… Furrow your brows??? Do something?

 

He was quiet for a long while, leaning against the bed, looking at the ceiling.

 

Then he asked if he could have the rope loosened - something about his back hurting – and I just stared. Like properly stared at him. Couldn’t process a single thought besides a deep anxiety and shame.

 

I must’ve looked so damn afraid that he even started trying to assure me everything was okay, that he wasn’t angry at me or was going to hurt me. I could feel the tears down my cheeks before I could stop myself.

 

There he sat, the stranger I was going to kill. Calm, maybe at his guard because of the psycho-teen in the room with him, trying to soothe me as I cried. How are you supposed to handle that? Nothing prepares you for the guilt of considering killing someone for your own gain. And how in the shining heavens above can you sit there and help a stranger that you assume has robbed you and can logically deduce was probably going to off you as well?

After some unknown amount of time, I managed to get myself together and did what he asked – because he if was going to do something to try and escape, it would’ve been deserved.

He turned away from me while I fidgeted with the rope

 

Not that it changes anything, but I did manage to sympathize with him enough to ask if he wanted to use the toilet – of course he did, so I just accepted the fact that he might get his stuff and either knock me out and escape or kill me.

Didn’t feel like he would.

Probably my naïvely hopeful side taking over, the one that thinks the world will survive, but now he’s in there. Doing whatever.

 

Guess we’ll know what happens if I don’t write here again.

 

-.-.-.-

_ Spring, fifth day, 2021 _

**Hey!** I survived!

 

He didn’t even try to escape.

 

I was sitting on the bed when he came out, and he looked at me like I was a ghost at first – guess he assumed I would have up and left as soon as I knew I was safe from him? Honestly, probably would’ve been smart.

Oh well.

 

We sat and talked for a bit. I told him my name and I got his: Rait? Redt? Rett? Something spelled like that. Never heard it before. Not as common as mine: Anna. Means grace or something in Hebrew. Heh, totally fits.

Anyway. Then he told me he was from LA and that he had left the quarantine (So they DID work) to find people he knows. I didn’t dare ask who, feeling bad about seeing his dingy picture.

Apparently, he didn’t know people survived outside the quarantine. The authorities had been saying we were dead out here. Can you believe it? They fucking left us. Abandoned us. (Saving my anger for some other time)

 

Needless to say, I was stunned. He said he had been too when he finally managed to get out (I assume he didn’t actually get permission) and met survivors outside the quarantine.

It’s not all great in there, or something. He was working as some stand-in machine operator at the power plant. Said he wasn’t really qualified, but they just saw his degree from school and placed him there. Seems like everyone had been allotted their duties, enforced to obey certain rules.

Kinda felt like he was trying to swerve me from going there. Yeah, like I would make it. I’m already perplexed that HE has made it this far.

 

But uh… It was nice. To talk, I mean.

Haven’t really had much human contact besides trying to avoid conflicts, or almost getting tagged by the cartel.

The guy is nice, I think. Has been kind so far, at least – but that has been the tactic of others in the past as well…

I **did** explain to him why he ended up tied to the bed, and he was grateful actually (which isn’t weird? Just… super unaccustomed to hear thanks? The word feels so alien after all these years). He would probably have been infected if I hadn’t dragged him away – mainly for selfish reasons since I’ve been able to keep my part of the dorm complex infection free, and him laying there like a buffet would embolden them to explore it. But I didn’t say that, of course.

 

He’s doing inventory on the desk right now. Checking his gear before he’s on his way.

 

I won’t say I’m sad because of that but.

Who am I kidding? YES, I am sad. Having him leave would probably ease my conscious, but he’s the first person I’ve met so far that has been genuine (man, PLEASE let me be right) and kind – maybe a bit short with me and not entirely excited about the situation at first, but at least he didn’t attack me. ~~Who woulda thunk that young-old Anna would find kinship in a 40-year-old man after the Apocalypse happened?~~ ~~Well, first of all it would’ve been a very weird hypothetical from the beginning, and most likely just some dirty joke by Emily. She was funny like that.~~

 

Anyway.

 

It kinda hit me how lonely I am, just from talking with him for 20 min?

 

It took years to accept what happened to my family and friends. It took even more years to accept that my little brother was gone. I don’t truly know if Emily is gone. Alaska is a big place. But she’s not going to come here.

Never had a choice about being alone. There was never anyone I could trust left here. Not even people I recognized were alright. Perhaps Jason would’ve been, if he wasn’t stuck in that damn church.

 

I’m going to stop writing before I begin crying again.

 

Honestly didn’t think I had more tears for this shit anymore.

 

 

-.-.-.-

_ Spring, 7th day, 2021 _

 

Hey, uh, don’t be mad but… I kinda agreed to guide him out of town?

 

Okay, I asked if he wanted help.

 

OK, OK! I told him he’d probably die if I didn’t show him the safest path to the outskirts.

 

Damn it, let a girl atone for her sins, alright?

 

 

We’re camped in the Dollar General store close to the college right now, because it’s getting dark. Took us a while to get on the road because I had to choose what to pack for guiding him, he had to insist in me _not_ doing this for his sake, and I insisted harder saying ~~(lying)~~ about the fact that I had to go on for a supply run anyway so I might as well help him, he had to spend some time thinking before acquiescing (yep, I remember the word, Mr. Davis. Anna: 1 English class: 0). Also, it might’ve felt good thinking that I wouldn’t be alone for a few more hours.

 

The plan was fairly simple according to him, he needed a vehicle and more water for his journey. I’d like to think I was giving it to him straight when I said that’s a very bad plan. Because the car dealerships are north of town, which passes both the museum AND close to the hospital, which is basically the origin cesspool of the infected – if you don’t backyard hop in the suburbs, which is almost equally dangerous with the boarded up survivors that protect the streets there (I almost got shot a few times trying to pass by).

So, the plan became thusly: we would scout the Dollar ~~store for water~~ (there was some watery beer at least?), then follow Rimrock road to Home Depot, stop for water, then Main street and scout all the car shops we could find. And any cars on the way that look alright. It’s a long detour, but it’s much safer.

In the end, this works out for me as well, because I need some form of transportation. Not like I’m going somewhere, but the few bikes I’ve had over the years just didn’t cut the deal when you’re being hunted by a horde of infected (I ripped that page out of the diary, because it was smudged with infected blood after I had to kill a few stragglers that followed me - real nasty).

Aaand I need bullets for my gun. The bowie is good and deadly, but I’d rather not get up close and personal with them to kill.

 

 

The store is pretty ransacked, which means others also know its empty by now. Should be safe enough for the night if we keep a sleeping schedule. We (Rhett, as I embarrassingly had to ask how to spell his name – didn’t want to disrespect him even if he’s not going to read this) managed to roughhouse our way into the personnel area. Looks like it used to be a lounging area with a kitchenet. Rhett stood staring forlornly at the broken coffee machine for a moment while I set up a simple sound trap by the doors (broken glass and iron beads on the floor). I guess he misses it, I kinda do too. Dad used to let me have some on days when it was extra hard to get up for school.

 

He’s sitting with a large map of America right now, flash light in his mouth. I want to say something. Ask where he’s going, who he thinks has survived. Want to know how his life used to be. It’s like… television? He’s a live story. Maybe I’m just going coocoo and being fascinated by the one person that’s spoken to me without real ulterior motives. Not like we have a lot in common as far as I know.

 

Guess it’s time to turn in for the night. I’m not very tired, but Rhett has the first shift and it’s never good to skimp on sleep when on a supply run – learned that the hard way.

Think I’ve learned everything the hard way at this point.

 

Goodnight ~~, dear diary.~~


	4. Chapter 4

-.-.-.-

_February 5 th, morning, 2021_

We made it to the Home Depot.

 

There were a LOT of cars on the way, but they’ve been tapped. Engines gone, cables, fuel, tires, you name it.

 

It was eerily quiet while we walked. We spotted no infected, no survivors. No birds flew over us.

I dunno, I’ve realized I don’t believe as much in God as I used to, but it felt like a bad omen.

 

A few ~~good~~ things were realized though:

Apparently, Rhett has been keeping a calendar since D-day, and today is Feb 5th. That means I’m turning 18 in almost exactly a month.

…

I always imagined that I wouldn’t feel much different at 18, because I felt older in my mind already – just that laws that applied to me would be different. In a way, I was right, because it’s not going to feel different anymore and there’s no law out here that dictates what I do at what age. It’s just another year I’ve spent trying to survive.

But I wasn’t as mature as I thought.

 

Also, it reminded me that I never got my period. Feels kinda gross to write about it but since I’m turning 18, guess it’s time to grow up. Doctor told me it can be delayed in very active girls (or by depression, malnourishment etc.); which I was, I suppose, with athletics and wanting to get into the Olympics eventually.

I never got a chance to **stop** being active, plus I had my fair share of depression since the apocalypse happened.  And I’ve had to feed on scraps for months at some point.

So, it’s three for three, which doesn’t make it strange at all.

…I don’t want to cry anymore; I need the water inside me (didn’t find any water in the home depot either, figures since it’s a furniture store) but not having my period means I can’t have any kids. Used to think I never wanted to have any, but also having that choice stripped from me?

It fucking sucks.

 

 

Rhett is sitting with the map again. Seems to be plotting routes, marking spots. I still don’t know where he’s going, but it feels like it’s a long way there since the map is of all of America, and he’s drawing long lines.

Makes you wonder what the rest of the country is like, or the world for that matter. Are there more quarantines? Are they trying to make a cure still? Or is everything infected after all these years since it started? I wouldn’t put it past some stupid infected tourists/Americans to have fled the country and brought it to the other continents.

Or, maybe, they’ve quarantined the whole of the American continent. And they’re waiting for us to die, taking the virus with us.

 

Not sure if that’s how it even works. Haven’t stayed to see what happens when you kill an infected. Maybe they just get up after a few days. If I’m remembering right, the news said the virus was some mutated form of a mushroom?  Something about mind-controlling ants, and this strain of the species was able to do that with humans instead. Maybe when you kill the “host-body” the mushroom still lives on inside.

 

[UNINTELLIGBLE SCRIBBLES FILLS THE PAGE]

 

 

-.-.-.-

_February 5 th, mid-day, 2021_

 

We had to stop at the home depot a bit longer than expected. A large group of survivors passed down the streets outside, heavily armed. A few of them almost scouted the depot but were stopped by the man who appeared to be the leader. I had my knife in a tight grip, but not sure how easy it would’ve been to actually stab them. Probably would, once my life depended on it.

I think it was that cartel. There were a few children with them, and a lot of people tied up and being led. Makes me so angry to see these poor excuses for human beings enslaving the whole of Barstow, leading them to black vans that ship them away to God-knows-where.

 

Once the coast seemed clear, I asked Rhett if they had anything like it in LA, but he just said we should move before more of them show up.

Something about how he avoided answering felt like a ‘yes’. And that he probably lost someone that way.

So, I didn’t press it.

 

Right now, Rhett’s staking out an AmPm for the water he wanted before we get to the next gas station and check the cars there. I lied about wanting to look for bullets in the cars out here, just to at least kinda keep up appearances about this being another supply run for me.

 

Of course, I want him to find what he needs. I just wish he didn’t have to leave so soon.

We haven’t talked a lot since we set out, but just having his company and someone to occasionally spew random facts about Barstow to, rarely getting a response, because you’re stupidly unused to trying to socialize and you realize you have literally nothing to say that actually matters  - makes me feel like I’m a tiny bit more alive than I was before.

And that weird feeling of knowing someone’s watching out for you when you’re about to sleep? It’s sickeningly familiar. Not sure I could get accustomed to it anymore. Well, I won’t have to.

 

In a few hours, I’m back to being alone.

 

-.-.-.-

_February 5 th, 2021_

You’d think I wouldn’t have time to write this much on one day.

(And I don’t really)

But we’ve stopped a lot to check all the cars, and Rhett doesn’t want to spend the time teaching me how to jumpstart cars or fault-checking them. I get it. I’ve watched him a bit, memorized a few things, even tested a few cars myself and earned a raised brow from him. Felt pretty good.

 

Alright, I might be acting childishly. I just want him to talk a bit, like he did when we camped in the dollar store or the college. Feels like he’s avoiding it.

 

Right now, we’re camped by another gas station. It’s taken a lot of time to check all the cars and it’s getting dark. Feels like all of Barstow was on the road when they suddenly had to abandon ship.

 

I’m supposed to sleep and let Rhett have the first watch, but I can’t. I can’t sleep at all.

 

I don’t want to go back to being alone. Even if he’s not very talkative, it’s worlds better than the deadly silence.

 

 

 

P.S. Not sure why I didn’t write this before. Guess I didn’t want to acknowledge the embarrassment that followed.

…I told him. About my family. About Charlie.

 

It just kinda bubbled out of me after the 115th echo of him drawing lines on his damn map. Couldn’t stand it anymore. Suddenly, I’ve become needy for conversation, like it was water after a week in the desert.

 

But I’ve never told it out loud before, which made me able to disconnect somehow from reality.

Didn’t hurt as much as I’d thought when I told him how dad was the one to fall first, catching mom while I was running with little C. How I had him with me for months, only to fail him when he yelled for mom one day in the hideout while I had left to get us more food. How I wasn’t fast enough to get to him, when I finally heard his cries, before they were swarming the area.

 

He didn’t know what to say at first. I don’t blame him. Then he said he was sorry.

Thought he was going to go back to being quiet after that, and I thought I was going to implode with the emotions I had locked inside.

 

He said he knew a Charles, back in the day. My cheeks were burning with tears of regret for spilling my sad backstory to him at that point (good thing he couldn’t see my face, the way I was laying), so I didn’t ask any questions about it, but I didn’t have to either. They were good friends apparently – which made me think of Emily. When the shock-outbreak in LA happened, Charles was on a trip to his home state. They had had contact until the phone lines cut out some time in 2018.

He had been on the way to a quarantine, last Rhett knew.

 

Then silence pierced the air. A loaded, hurting silence.

 

I wanted to say he could still be alive. But I couldn’t bring myself to talk before he’d stood up to do a safety check.

 

He’s sleeping right now. Feels weird to look at someone when they don’t know you are, but he looks peaceful.

 

 -.-.-.-

_February 16 th, 2021_

 

Did you know that Kingman has a zoo some miles outside the town?

 

Yeah, neither did I.

 

Until we almost hit a lion in the middle of the road.

 

 

I’m sitting by the register of the AmPm by the closest gas station we managed to push the car to before infected were swarming the roads toward the crash site. We’re good, though. They weren’t interested by this station at all. (Still can’t believe we saw a lion, just like that. Never seen one in real life before.)

 

I don’t think Rhett realizes how far his voice carries, because he’s trying to hide his storm of swears under his breath while looking for tools to fix the car with.

Kinda funny, that guy.

 

 

I’m surprised I got this far though.

 

…Uh, yeah. So, we found a car that worked – had some funneled gas from an ARCO – and just about when we were going to fill the thing up, a bunch of those cartel bandits showed up and started shooting at us – yelling that the car was theirs. Well, effectively we said “Fuck off” when I dumped the gas in ASAP as Rhett shot cover fire, and then we dove into the car, putting the pedal to the metal.

 

It was torturous two hours of silence until he slowed down in the Needles area. All I could choke out was that I was sorry, that I didn’t mean to force him to take me with him.

He said it didn’t matter anymore. He couldn’t drive me back there and he _said_ he didn’t want me to leave me to die in the middle of nowhere either. But it felt like he considered it seriously at some point during the ride.

I kept quiet. Barely dared to breathe.

We sat parked for a good thirty minutes before he turned on the car again and kept going. Never seen someone so dejectedly angry. Heard my heart in my ears as we got onto the interstate again.

 

But….

Yeah. Kingman looks a lot like Barstow so far. Probably won’t be much different to survive here…

 

-.-.-.-

_February 16 th, evening, 2021_

 

Rhett’s been trying to repair the car for the entirety of the day now.

 

I checked on him sometimes, just to see he hadn’t been quietly attacked by infected. He ignored me looking at him through the windows of the store. _~~Jerk.~~_

 

Look, I don’t blame him for being angry that he got stuck with me – he didn’t have much of an option after all – but what’s done is done. I’ll be off his back once he’s out of here. I get that he doesn’t want another life to care for except his own; I get that it makes everything harder. I just…

I wish he could sympathize with how lonely I have been. Not make it worse by being upset, ignoring me the last few hours I’ll probably ever spend in good company with another person.

Maybe say he’s sorry that he drove me away from the one place I kinda had some form of life in. Sorry that he’s now planted me in unknown territory with who-knows-how-many infected or survivors. Sorry that he stripped me of all the supplies I had stashed.

 

Sorry that I’m probably going to die here. In fucking Kingman.

 

 

__

-.-.-.-

_February 17 th, 2021_

He got the car started just now. The sun is just rising over the horizon.

 

 

-.-.-.-

_February 17 th, 2021_

 

He wished me well, left what few bullets he had for his pistol, and drove off. He was surprisingly civil considering I hush-screamed my despair at him during the night, ~~and kinda said it was his fault if I died here.~~

 

 

That’s that, I guess…

 

 

I promised myself I wouldn’t cry anymore because of him; he doesn’t deserve it. But here I am.


	5. Chapter 5

-.-.-.-

_February 18 th, 2021_

Found some old, burned house to camp inside. Killed a few pigeons.

 

Everything feels so grey here in Kingman. Maybe it’s just my mood.

Maybe the world is a swirling pit of grey chaos.

 

-.-.-.-

[SHORT LIST OF SUPPLIES]

-.-.-.-

_February 19 th, 2021_

 

So, I said I didn’t blame him but…

Idk

 

Just woke from a nightmare. Haven’t dreamed for a few years now, only started again after having talked to Rhett.

I saw my family, walking toward me on the street outside our house. Mom was holding Charlie. Dad was waving. It was great at first. I was so damn happy I cried in my dream.

  
But every step they took, I got this terrible feeling something was wrong. And when they were close enough that I could see them properly, their eyes were dead with their skin pale and seedy. I woke up with my heart blaring in my ears. Almost worried infected could hear it beat.

 

Bastard. Gives me hope and then puts me here.

 

My life is a joke to God. In fact, either we humans were always a joke, or he doesn’t exist.

-.-.-.-

_February 19 th, evening, 2021_

 

[SCRIBBLES OF CROSSED OUT SENTENCES FILL THE PAGE]

...

 

...

 

 

He saved me, that bastard.

 

I was rummaging for supplies in a nearby grocery store, managing to alert several infected when an old bottle of pickles crashed to the floor.

 

I ran as fast as my shaky legs could carry me, out into the road nearby, where a whole flock of them were congregated (no idea when they got there??).

Just when I thought I saw the end, begrudgingly thinking I couldn’t even survive a few days on my own in a new town, I saw his headlights turn around the corner and heard the tires screech before he rammed the lot of them in front of me.

 

The shock almost got me killed as well, as I stood staring at his car and one of them lunged from behind me.

I only got enough wit to move out of the way when he shouted.

 

 

Sitting shotgun now. We’ve parked by the road, thinking its safer to not be close to any town for now.

He’s outside, trying to mend a glitch in the battery that kept shutting off the headlights.

 

His reason for coming back was that he changed his mind about the bullets, and I laughed so long and hard he had to tell me it wasn’t that funny. But it was, to me.

  
Because I understood he came back, for my sake.  
Because the relief that followed seeing him was overwhelming.

  
And on top of all that, I laughed so much to cope with the fact that he thought it was a good idea to joke about getting his stuff back when he left me for dead, basically.

 

Sorry, Rhett. But you’re an ass and I am so grateful that you didn’t leave me.

 

You’ll never read this, but I’ll tell you once you get in here.

 

-.-.-.-

_February 22 nd, 2021_

 

We’re funneling gas from a gas station just outside Albuquerque. It isn’t that far from Kingman, but we ran into some stingy survivors in Flagstaff that forced us to take a detour over Tuba City and Church Rock– that whole trip drained the last of the gas.

Figures others would like to have a functioning car if they could.

So, there wasn’t a plan to saving me, which isn’t surprising. It was decided that I’d tag along until enough supplies is gathered and a consensus in me staying someplace is struck.

Not a very solid plan, but it was his first suggestion and I couldn’t find it in me to object since I owe him my life twice over now. (Even if, technically, he caused the second near-death... But it's still at least one life I owe. You get it)

I will probably get a fair chance at surviving alone again with this plan anyway. I despise the thought, but I’m the one who got him into this mess.

 

I promise that I won’t slow him down or endanger him again. And leave as soon as I can. It’s easier to rip the band-aid, right?

 

We’re mentally preparing for entering Albuq. as well. A larger city like this is bound to mean trouble for us.

-.-.-.-

_February 23 rd, 2021_

 

Albuquerque was OK.

 

We ran over a lot of groupings of infected on the road, sped past a look-out of survivors, and took a breather inside a long since abandoned Blue Beacon Truck Wash once we felt we were safe.

Seems like the roads were claimed by infected because all around the I-40 stood scary looking walls of various compositions. Spikes with infected heads on them, barbed wire, gates and towers.

Probably an old quarantine that didn’t work out, since no government-looking folk were spotted, even in the towers that stood by the walls. But the walls seemed to have worked well enough since there were so many infected on the road.

The hood of the car is severely dented, but it’s better than having to kill them on foot.

 

Rhett is using some stale Truck Wash WaterTM to clean the nasty dark blood of the infected. Kinda… vain to care about? Also, he's getting it all over his shirt while he's reaching over the roof of the car.

I’ve had to smell this stuff for years and years, not much is worse than this smell (blood mixed with something putrid and decaying), but I guess Rhett isn’t used to it yet. I’m not stopping him, obviously. It smells terrible, and won’t smell much better when it dries, so better to get rid of it instead of having to stand it for miles.

 

He’s lucky he didn’t have to smell me a few years ago, before I managed to start finding regular baths.

He didn’t exactly smell like a peach when I found him either, but it was mostly just dirt and sweat. Not really gag worthy.

 

… You’d think I’d be more worried than I am right now, considering the amount of dead bodies that were piled on the car before. Not like I’ve killed so many at any point to actually have them _piling up_ , but something about doing it in a car, with Rhett, felt oddly natural. Like we were safe. Which is very dangerous to think.

Survivors could’ve killed us through the windows.

Even infected can smash through things if they really want to.

 

 

Car clean, Rhett found some old hard candies by the reception and handed them to me after popping one in his mouth. Dunno if he expects me to love candy because I’m a kid in his eyes and all sugar is holy to kids, but I would prefer chips ~~as if I get a choice.~~

Man, I would seriously maim something for a bag of plain salted potato chips.

-.-.-.-

 

_February 24 th, 2021_

 

Stopped outside San Jon. Rhett is raiding a Valero for food and water while I’m watching the car. Got his rifle leaning against my chest.

 

We talked a bit the last hour, finally. Well, we haven’t been totally quiet the last three days, but it’s been almost only in necessity. Which really grates on your psyche, I realize.

 

So, I forced him to listen to me talking about 200’s sprinting. My training. Accomplishments. My half-blind coach. How I had a poster of Usain Bolt in the ceiling over my bed to remind me of my goal every day when I woke up. That I was so nerdy that I even had a radio app on my phone for listening to different championships during free study hours. After a few minutes of my rambling, he started responding. Asked what made me so inspired.

And that kinda got me. Because I’m not sure. I just know that my parents told me I always used to run a lot as a kid, and that I was terribly competitive. Sometimes to a fault, which made other kids sad. I was probably a menace in a way, but they always assured me I was never mean intentionally.

Some day I realized that running was one competition I eventually started being worse at when the boys got bigger and stronger than me. Until I started training so much that I started winning again. That feeling of trying hard at something that I thought I was going to lose at, and that that ‘trying’ eventually made a difference against most people’s judgement… I guess it stuck with me.

 

I said just about as much to him, and he seemed to think it made sense. Then he told me that he used to play basketball when he was young. Figures, since he’s one of them giants. He wasn’t very enthusiastic, but I appreciated that he finally wanted to talk about something. Said he almost felt obligated to since he was so tall, but he learned to love the feeling of hitting the hoop and helping your team. He quieted after he explained his greatest accomplishment during a single season. Something about it made him sad.

I can only guess that it has with someone important around that being gone. I just apologized for bringing it up and we sat silent until we arrived here.

 

 

He’s been in there for a while now.

Everything out here is so barren.

 

-.-.-

_February 25 th, 2021_

 

On our way to Vega.

Rhett had apparently met another survivor inside the Valero, which is why he took so long.

A young man, maybe a bit older than me according to Rhett, who looked so skinny and sickly Rhett had thought he was infected first and almost shot him on sight.

They had been talking a bit, and the man told him about how San Jon hadn’t really gotten any infected for years after the major outbreak. Like, what?!

Apparently, people just went crazy with the fear and walled themselves off in the few homes that existed there. Killed each other over supplies. Eventually there was only three strong groups left in the small town, fighting to gain power over hunting grounds and water sources.

He was the last survivor of one of those groups. Had never seen an infected until a few months ago, when one infected in the wilds had managed to get to two of the hunters in their group which brought the infection back to wipe out the rest of them. All except him. And none of the other groups wanted to take him in after. I pity him and envy him at the same time.

I try not to think about it, but it gives merit to the daydream (or nightmare, whatever you wanna call it) that my family could probably still have been alive, had we been smart enough to leave Barstow for the countryside where few infected would’ve spawned.

 

Rhett gave the man the few scraps of supplies he had found in the gas station, which I respect. Of course, it might’ve been a tall story to win sympathy, but it would be hard to fake how skinny he was. I did see him peak out the station when Rhett had just returned, angrily slamming the car door as he sat down. I waved at the guy, which felt weird, especially since he didn’t do it back very much, just a bony palm flashing back.

Even weirder was when we pulled out toward the I-40 again and I, by chance, looked in the rear-view mirror, he was waving both his arms from outside the station at us. I told Rhett, but he just shrugged. Probably felt that he wasn’t grateful enough.

 

Anyway, like I said, we’re on our way to Vega. A slightly bigger town with better chances of having food. We’ll be better off than him.

Rhett isn’t very happy, as you’d expect.

It obviously took a lot to leave those scraps for the guy, since we’re low as it is.

Seems like he has a certain empathy he can’t manage to shake despite his attempt at leaving me behind in the unknown and probably wanting to tell the man to fuck off and let him starve.

 

I both like and dislike that about him. Because it saved me and reminds me of all the times that I trusted someone, only to get burned (or almost killed). I imagine Rhett has been burned many times and keeps getting burned, just like me.

 

Here we are, two barbecued suckers on a road trip neither of us really wanted.

Great!

-.-.-

_February 25 th ?, 2021_

 

…

 

There was a barricade on the road into Vega. We got our tires sliced with road spikes and had laser sights aimed at our hearts before I even knew what happened

They came from behind after that, out of inconspicuous abandoned cars (we’ve seen so many already near every human encampment), and I just woke up in here with most of my stuff besides weapons. Splitting headache over my ear...

Not sure who they are, but right now I’m sitting in a small room that’s stripped of everything, windows covered.

I don’t know where they took Rhett. Don’t know if he’s even alive

 

~~ **Damn it.....** ~~

Not sure if I should cry or laugh at the irony of how I wrote about us being two burned suckers on a road trip, and now we were thrown into the hot pot of some aggressive… I don’t even know. Cartel? (they seemed coordinated) not hours later

 

Life likes to really **hammer** the point home


End file.
